Which is an interesting thesis and all...until Wojciechowski explains the scene he witnessed in the Giants' locker room this spring, and how that compelled him to make this conclusion. In fact, Wojciechowski has no idea that he's actually just channeling a popular 1980s movie:

I recently walked into the Giants' clubhouse at Scottsdale Stadium at exactly 8 a.m. By 9:20, I had seen:

• Postseason hero Cody Ross happily tell a reporter that he can't walk down a San Francisco block without being recognized.

"And that's a good thing,'' the Giants outfielder said. "That's what you want. That's what you dream of as a kid.''

Just then, a teammate walked by and, without breaking stride, began singing, in a surprisingly decent Steven Tyler imitation, "Dream on … Dream on …''

• Veteran outfielder Pat Burrell work almost the entire room, cracking wise with a dozen teammates as he collected money in an old bank pouch.

• Reliever Brian Wilson, who showed up at the first day of camp in a cop car, search the entire clubhouse for a blank USA Today crossword puzzle. [...]

• Bonds' godfather, Willie Mays, a frequent visitor, hanging out in the clubhouse.

• A reporter approach[es] [sic] veteran first baseman Aubrey Huff.

"What do you want?!'' Huff said.

"I'm very fragile right now,'' the reporter said. "Please don't yell at me.''

"OK, buddy,'' said Huff, smiling, his bluff called. "Whatya need?''

Later, Huff snuck behind a Giants beat reporter and playfully smacked the notebook out of his hand.

"Yard sale!'' Huff said.

The reporter rolled his eyes.

So why might big Gene be so taken by the chemistry in the clubhouse? Well, let's recap what big Gene has seen here. We've got:

Cody Ross, lamenting his newfound popularity;

random Steven Tyler-singing Giant, whose imitation must make him the social outcast of the clubhouse;

Brian Wilson, who in searching for a crossword reveals he's a nerd;

Willie Mays, the undisputed jock in the room;

and finally, Aubrey Huff, who bullies a meek reporter like a punk.

Add that all up and you get The Breakfast Club, the classic stereotype-driven 1985 movie. How can Wojciechowski see this in the clubhouse and not realize he's being taken by Ally Sheedy and Anthony Michael Hall? And how can he not realize that this dugout-slash-detention experiment in "chemistry" is more ephemeral than a Wang Chung song?

It's kind of amazing that Wojciechowski looks at a dugout insane asylum--which happened to channel lightning in a bottle once in over 50 years--and interprets it as Some Kind Of Wonderful, rather than a load of Flubber.

I know, I know. It's easy for me to see the Hughes link and throw stones from my anonymously authored perch. I'm a gutless turd, right? Why do I have to insult everybody?

If the Dodgers win the World Series, you know, one of these decades, can we all get together to pay a plane to fly a banner over the gnats' opening day game that reads, "20__ Los Angeles Dodgers, World Series Champs...Again!"?